


it's out there and it's gonna get you

by Princex_N



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Denial, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Brian knows the words. He even knows what they mean when you put all of them together - but he isnotthinking about that word. He isn't.But he is twenty-one, and Brian knows the ages too.But none of that matters, because Brian isn't thinking about it.
Relationships: Alex Kralie & Brian Thomas, Brian Thomas & Timothy "Tim" Wright
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	it's out there and it's gonna get you

**Author's Note:**

> title from [we know where you sleep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MULVgrgLPkU) by the paper chase
> 
> (note: the first paragraph is in reference to 'psych student syndrome' and Not self-diagnoses, which i do support)

Brian knows what hypochondria looks like. He does. It's one of the first things his professors would warn around when he'd started taking his psych classes; be careful about dwelling too hard about diagnoses because it's common to want to diagnose yourself. Resist the urge - don't fuck things up for yourself. 

Granted, Brian _had_ been right about the whole ADHD thing, but he's also not sure if it counts as him actually being right about the ADHD thing if he had ignored it until one of his professors had been the one to break down and practically beg him to get evaluated. He supposes it doesn't really matter either way.

Either way, Brian is trying not to think about this new thing. 

It _is_ new, and he's not sure what to think about that, if he's being honest. The ADHD thing had been familiar because it had been old, and they warn you about things when you read them for the first time and start to think about them too hard. They don't really tell you much about what it means when you read them in your freshman year and then started experiencing things that made you have to start thinking about them in your junior year. Frankly, it could be nothing. It's probably nothing. 

It's nothing, really. 

Except Brian is pretty sure he might be hallucinating. 

It's fine. He's probably just exaggerating. Probably just getting too caught up in his own head, because finals are coming up, and he's been trying his best to keep up with Alex's filming schedule as well as his regular job, so he's just a little bit stretched thin and it's probably just stress. No, it's probably not even stress, it's probably just his brain latching onto the information he's been studying and turning it up in weird ways, making excuses where none need to be made. Brian's fine. Really, he is. 

It's what he keeps telling everyone else, after all. Brian is _fine,_ and it's fine that he's been getting weirdly sick this semester - _that_ probably is just the stress. The persistent cough in the bottom of his lungs, and the nagging ache behind his eyes that sometimes becomes so debilitating that Brian has to back out of gatherings in his own house - escaping up the stairs and tucking himself away beneath his bed covers until the light and sound couldn't hurt him so badly anymore, and everyone else has left because they'd lost track of him. 

He keeps assuring everyone that he's fine, because he is. The campus clinic had shrugged unceremoniously when he'd gone to see them, said it was probably just allergies and nothing to worry about, and Brian is taking that word as gospel because it _has_ to be true. It's nothing to worry about.

It's nothing. 

It's just that, well, maybe it's not. 

See, Brian is good at his job. He's good at his job of being a student right now, and when he graduates with his doctorate, he'll be good at his job of being a therapist. Brian is _good_ at what he's decided to do, because Brian is good at just about everything he decides to do.

(Except, of course, convincing himself that he's fine, but he's not thinking about it, because he _is_ fine, he is, really.)

So Brian is not _oblivious_ to the similarities between his own behavior and the recent experiences he's been having and the word in his head that he's trying very hard to not think about.

It's just that he's trying very hard to not think about it, so he's pretending that he is _not_ seeing any of those similarities at all, actually.

(But Brian knows the words. The word for when you lock yourself in your closet because you're terrified of the shadows at the end of your hallways, utterly convinced down to your _soul_ that the locks on your front and back doors are not enough to protect you, that word is Paranoia. The word for the shadow you keep seeing out of the corners of your eyes, the odd shape you keep noticing at the edge of the treeline outside of your windows, that word is Hallucination. The word for the pervasive feeling that you're being followed, that you're being watched, that there is something sticking its fingers in your brain and rooting around the soft tissue for _something,_ that word is Delusion. Brian knows the words - he even knows what they mean when you put all of them together - but he is _not_ thinking about that word. He isn't.)

(But he is twenty-one, and Brian knows the ages too.)

(But none of that matters, because Brian isn't thinking about it.)

* * *

"Hey, are you alright?" Tim asks one afternoon, and Brian takes too long to figure out how to respond. 

He's fine _(of course he is)_ , but it's just that maybe he's not. Mostly, he's trying not to think about it, because thinking about it means acknowledging the man outside of the window, staring with a face that doesn't hold any eyes.

Brian can feel them tracing over his skin anyway, burning holes in the back of his head, and he can't decide if he wants to look back at it or keep pretending not to see it. If he looks at it, confront it, will it go away? Startle under his gaze like he startles under its? Or will putting his eyes onto the smooth visage of its eyeless face only give it exactly what it wants? And how is Brian supposed to cope with the chill he'd get if that thing got a hit of satisfaction just from seeing him look back at it?

Brian doesn't want to be curious about this. He doesn't _want_ to know what it is.

He can't shake the feeling that if it knows he's looking back at it, if it knows he can see it, that it'll only peak _its_ curiosity, and Brian _really_ doesn't want that.

"I'm fine," he says finally, shaking himself out of his thoughts and looking up from where he's been staring dazedly at Alex's carpet to look Tim in the eye and attempt to be reassuring.

Judging by the look Tim gives him, it doesn't really work, but Tim doesn't ask. He's good at that - respecting that distance - maybe because he asks for it so often himself.

(Brian is trying not to think of the ways he's starting to feel the same way Tim looks sometimes. Tim hadn't kept secrets very well at first, because he'd said he'd never been allowed to have them before, so Brian knows and keeps the secret for him. He doesn't want to think about those similarities, he doesn't want to know what would be worse - that he just happens to be hopping into the same boat or if his brain is just pulling some sick game of copycat. Brian's not sure if brains actually work like that - maybe he just hasn't taken that class yet - but he doesn't want to think about it either way.)

Brian tries to express the gratitude he feels through his face, and tries not to dwell on the uncertain way Tim's eyes lock onto the window behind Brian's head. 

It's nothing. Just a coincidence. He's just overthinking things, trying to find proof where there isn't any, because nothing is happening that requires proof in the first place.

It's fine.

* * *

It's not fine, and Brian is hiding under his bed like a child, because he _knows_ , he knows he knows he _knows_ that that fucking thing is in his house right now, he _knows_ it and there's no time for listening to the actually sane voice in his head right now because he doesn't know what it wants and doesn't know what it'll do if it finds him and he _doesn't want to find out_.

He's smothering breath and tears into the sleeves of his hoodie, unable to catch his breath and unwilling to give himself the space to try because he can't tell how loud he's being but knows that any noise is too much noise and he can't _risk it_ and doesn't want to know what it'll do when it finds him, he really really doesn't.

There's no room for rational thought in this moment. There's only the aching terror in Brian's chest and the sound of its not-quite-footsteps over the wood paneling of his floors.

He has no intention of coming out, none at all, not any time soon, not even close, but he thinks that maybe he can hear it leaving. It doesn't move like a _person_ , and he can't tell where it is, not exactly enough, but he thinks maybe and barely allows himself to _hope_.

But then there's an ice-pick of pain ramming through the jelly of his eyes and straight through to the back of his skull, and he yelps despite himself, the heels of his palms pressing instinctive against his eyes like it makes any difference. The pain is overwhelming, enveloping, and Brian doesn't know what _happening_ , but if he couldn't catch his breath before then he really can't catch it now, something thick and wet in his lungs becoming cloying and smothering and bubbling up in his throat, he can't _breathe_ and his _head fucking hurts_ and he can't hear anything over the panic and pain and complete and utter certainty that he is _drowning_ and can barely even understand why that doesn't make any sense. 

He can't hold back the coughing, thick and pulling the taste of metal up the back of his throat and over the surface of his tongue, spilling out between his clenched teeth, and he can't tell if his eyes are open but he sure as hell can't see anything and he can't hear anything over the sound of his own wet retching in his ears and thinks he feels something reaching out to him and he feels his skull crack against the wood floor as his back arches unnaturally and the sensation of terror as he loses control of his body completely and then there is _nothing_.

...

Brian wakes up on the floor of his bathroom, not sure exactly how he got there. There's blood on his face, dried in patches and smeared over his cheeks and up into his hair, spread out over the tiles. He's too tired to address any of it.

Moving his body is strange, simultaneously too aware of every ache and pain and too distant from it all to know how to move around it. He's agonizingly sore and can't remember why. Can't even remember how he got home after class. There's blood staining the floor under his bed, but he can't think of how it might have gotten there. If it's his, he can't imagine why he would have been under there in the first place. 

His throat hurts. His head aches and feels like someone stuffed it full of cotton. He feels like he somehow managed to pull every muscle in his body.

He can't think clearly enough to worry about it. Tumbles into bed and falls asleep and doesn't wake up until the next evening, with the sound of his phone beeping in his ear to let him know that Tim and Alex have left him several messages asking where he was. He doesn't know how much time he lost. He tries not to think about it.

The blood doesn't quite come up off the wood, no matter how hard Brian scrubs.

It's probably fine.

* * *

He's leaning heavy against Alex's side, because Alex wants them both to review the footage he shot the other day but doesn't actually want to go through the trouble of getting the cables to hook everything up to the TV, so Brian practically has his chin hooked over Alex's shoulder just so that he can see from where he's sitting next to him on the couch.

It's raining outside, and his house is empty except for the two of them, the only sound is the tinny noise of his own voice coming through the camera's speakers, and Alex is a solid line of warmth against his side. Brian hasn't been sleeping well lately, can you blame him for drifting off a bit?

Alex nudges him awake every time he realizes that Brian is falling asleep, but doesn't actually make any effort to get him to sit up on his own or make sure that Brian doesn't start drifting off again a few moments later. Which is probably as close to permission as Brian is going to get.

And then right before he shuts his eyes, he sees something on the viewfinder that makes his heart stutter in his chest so hard he wonders if Alex can feel it through their shirts.

"Did you see that?" he asks, straining to keep his voice quiet and moderately casual. Any thought of sleep is completely gone from his mind, and it's all he can do to keep from leaping up and demanding that they both leave as quickly as possible, even if the only thing Brian has seen to unnerve him tonight is on the old footage on the camera.

"What?" Alex asks, sounding confused instead of concerned like he should be, rolling back the tape with not nearly enough urgency. "What's the problem?" 

"Stop!" Brian says instead of answering, and Alex hits the pause button, letting Brian poke shakily at the screen even though he'd usually be snapping about fingerprints and smudges. There, silhouetted between the trees in the field behind Brian and Tim, tall and thin and far too menacing all at once. "Do you see that?" 

There's an urgency that has almost nothing to do with the figure itself, the thought of it standing there behind them while they filmed, the thought that Brian hadn't even noticed while it was happening. It happened, okay, it has been happening. It's not quite a _whatever_ situation, but it's as close as Brian is capable of getting at this point. 

No, mostly he just wants to know if Alex can see it too. 

(Is it real? On the small, marginal, slim fucking chance, is it _real_? Is Brian losing his mind or is there someone there? Something there? Has there been something there the whole time? Is it real? _Is it?_ )

"See what?" Alex asks, and Brian's stomach drops. "There's nothing there." 

His voice is slow, cautious, uncertain. The words spoken deliberately. Of course they are, because _he can't see it_ and the only thing he's thinking is that Brian has gone crazy, which is fair, because this is the proof right here, isn't it? Alex can't see it. Brian can. Brian is losing his fucking mind. He's already lost it.

"Right," he says faintly, letting his hand fall away from the screen, staring with a dull sort of horror at the white smudge of its face in the static. "Yeah, no. You're right." 

It's not enough. It's not enough and it's not ever going to be enough, what the fuck is Brian supposed to do now? What is there to do? Should he tell someone? Ask for help? Hey, Alex, I know you've been under a lot of stress lately and you have so much going on that you've been snapping at people at the drop of a hat, but just in case this little conversation didn't make it clear enough, I think I'm having a psychotic breakdown. Sorry, I know this is going to add a lot of stress onto your shoulders, because we're friends and I know _I'd_ be concerned if I was in your shoes, but also - since I'm fucking crazy - you're going to have to restart all of the work we've been doing for the past few months and find someone else to be the main character in your movie. Sorry. Little bit of a wrench in the gears, huh?

No fucking way.

Brian can feel Alex's eyes on him as he leans back again, and if he presses harder against Alex's side and hides his hands in his sweatshirt sleeves so that no one can see the way his fingers tremble, well... That's fine. 

(The quiet of the house is nowhere near as comforting as it had been only moments before.)

* * *

Okay. So Brian knows that he's crazy now. It's solidified, cemented into truth, undeniable. The thing that's been following him for god knows how long now _isn't_ real, of course it wasn't going to be, and there's only him and his faulty brain causing problems instead. 

That's fine. He can deal with this, probably. 

He _knows_ that he's crazy now. So it probably doesn't make any sense for him to be dragging his mattress into his closet, there are probably steps to take before this one. But he knows that he's crazy now, isn't that a good enough excuse to let himself do some crazy shit? 

The fact of the matter is that Brian isn't sleeping. He can't. The window in his bedroom, the doors of his house, they're too much for him to handle. He lays in bed at night and can't bring himself to turn off the lights, the locks don't do enough, he can never get the blinds to close entirely. There are always too many shadows, too many empty spaces for something to be standing in, too many gaps for _something_ to be peering through. He feels its eyes on him all the time, now. He doesn't want it to see him anymore. 

So, the closet is the option he has available to him. 

The bathroom would have been a more spacious option, but beyond the issue of sanitation, the mirror is what Brian's brain kept catching on. The thought of being in there, doors locked and lights on and looking up into the mirror and seeing it behind him anyway, and his entire body freezes like a prey animal caught in the sights of a predator. Maybe it's ridiculous, but he doesn't want to risk it. 

it doesn't take long, all Brian has to do is drag his mattress into place, give himself a couple of blankets, and take a screwdriver to the doorknob and flip them so that it locks from the inside. Maybe it's crazy, but it _works_. There's still no light in the closet, but Brian has flashlights, and he can make it work. 

If he's spending more money than ever on batteries for it, then that's fine. At least he's sleeping more than he was (even if it's still not nearly enough). At least he can catch a few moments of illusory safety here and there. At least there's not enough space in here for anything but him. 

At least there's that. 

* * *

Despite all the shit that's been going on, it's still nice to go out with the others. Brian feels like he's holding onto his self and reality with breaking fingernails, but with Tim and Alex at his side, he feels a little more solid. A little more put together. A little more ready to face whatever might come barreling their way. 

Tim and Alex both have their cameras, and Brian feels mostly like he's just along for the ride. He doesn't mind the acting, but he doesn't think he's as invested in it as he probably could have been. He doesn't mind, though; the acting had never been what made the idea appealing in the first place. Brian likes helping out where he can, and he likes spending time with his friends (he had been worried, when he'd pushed Tim to audition with him after he'd noticed the blank spaces on Alex's sign in sheet, that the two of them wouldn't get along; he was glad to have been proven wrong). So, it's enough. 

It feels a little like standing in the eye of a storm, but Brian doesn't mind. Respite is respite. It's good to be out of the house without the oppressive feeling of doom pressing down on his lungs. Nice to hear Tim and Alex chat with each other while Brian walks alongside them. Fun to laugh at the quiet annoyance on Alex's face when Tim's phone interrupts the scene right as Alex hits record.

Brian tries not to listen in when Tim picks up the call, the the lack of space between them and the echo of the hallway that they're in makes it difficult. 

"Oh, just headaches, paranoia, trouble sleeping," Tim says with a casual air that Brian could probably never manage. "I haven't had a full nights' sleep in weeks." 

Brian's not oblivious. He notices the similarities. 

For a moment, he entertains the thought of bringing it up. Tim is - above anything else - _kind_. He'd almost definitely help if Brian asked him for it. Even if he still struggles, it feels like Tim has a better handle on this than Brian does. It's possible that Brian could have that, too. All he'd have to do is ask. Take a quick moment between shots, or after Alex has gone home, or when Brian is driving him and Tim back to their own houses to bring it up. Ask for a quick bit of advice. A referral to whatever doctor Tim just got off the phone with. Reassurance that this isn't the end of the world.

Then Tim hands up, apologizes again, and Alex settles right back into place to start filming. The moment fades, and Brian tells himself that he's being ridiculous. If Tim is struggling even half as much as Brian is, then he doesn't need anything else piled onto his plate. Brian can handle himself for the time being. 

At least for a little while longer, Brian can handle it on his own. 

* * *

He's doubled over his bathroom sink, can't catch his breath as he coughs desperately, frantically trying to clear his lungs of whatever blockage had sprung into existence in between breaths. His eyes are watering, streaming tears down the side of his face as he hacks gags with enough force that he can't stand up, can't catch a gasp of breath in the chaos. 

He had been walking down the hallway when he had caught sight of something out of his window, pressed up against the glass. Brian can't remember what it was, it doesn't matter now anyway because he's probably going to die like this if he can't get his lungs clear soon. He had seen it and the cough had slammed into him with the force of an eighteen-wheeler, and he'd barely had the awareness to stumble into the bathroom and lock the door before it had overwhelmed him entirely. 

Brian chokes, a cough finally breaking through the blockage and bringing up a thick mass of _something_ , bursting metal over his tongue as he spit it out of his mouth and pulled in a thin wheeze of air before breaking down again. The coughs bring up substance easier now, breaking it apart in his lungs and clearing enough that he can breathe again. 

His breath rasps shakily in his lungs and throat as Brian stares down at the mess of blood and tissue in his sink, feels it running down his chin. 

This feels more severe than allergies. A bigger deal than stress. 

But is this real? Is this happening? Is _this_ real? Or just another trick his brain is pulling on him? 

He doesn't know. 

It's one of the most terrifying realizations he's had since this entire thing began. 

* * *

Brian blinks open his eyes in Jay's kitchen and doesn't understand. 

How long has he been here? And what were they doing in the first place? 

Jay is rifling through sheets of paper, looking as unruffled as ever, but Brian can see a bit of blood crusted around his noise. Like it had started bleeding a while ago and been wiped away imperfectly. Brian feels like he would have mentioned it to him if he had noticed it. Had he? Or is it new? 

"What are we doing?" he asks, unable to piece together any pieces and unwilling to fumble his way through guessing. He's been sleepwalking, or something, a bit lately, he knows, but never like this. Never outside of his own house (he thinks). Excuses are getting harder and harder to come by, these days, he feels like he's scraping the bottom of the barrel with them. 

"Going over the script, weren't we?" Jay says, and he looks a little confused too, now. Is it because Brian suddenly lost track of everything that had been going on? Or is he in the exact same boat as Brian is right now?"

He tells himself that's ridiculous. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," Brian says aloud. "Lost my train of thought." 

The faint confusion on Jay's face fades into humor, and he snorts. "Yeah, dialogue like this can do that to you." He lifts one of the script pages demonstratively, glancing down at Brian easily once again. 

And Brian loves Alex, but Jay's not wrong. He laughs and lets himself enjoy it, tells himself to forget the strangeness of the situation, let it lie. 

He's getting worse at convincing himself that he's fine, but at least he's getting better at convincing himself that he's okay with that. 

* * *

It's early in the morning, and Brian is getting ready to leave, but he can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. 

He keeps checking to make sure that he has everything. Alex said they weren't staying too long, probably just the weekend, so Brian packed a change of clothes but probably doesn't need more than that. He has the directions Tim printed out for him already in the car. He has his copy of the script, the extra tapes Alex asked him to bring, his phone and charger. 

He hasn't heard from Tim since yesterday afternoon, but that's probably okay. Tim forgets sometimes, and Alex had texted late last night to say that he'd liked the location enough that everything was still in place to continue. Brian had asked about Tim and Alex had assured him that they were both fine, and Brian trusts Alex. 

Doesn't he? 

It's probably just him being ridiculous, he tells himself as he gets into the car, double checks that he has the bags and the directions and his phone again. It's probably nothing. An oversight being blown out of proportion. Just his brain lying to him again. 

If it's been telling him that he's been watched by a monster for months, then it's probably not a stretch for it to tell him that his friends are suddenly untrustworthy, liars, betrayers. Just because the feeling is there doesn't mean that Brian has to listen to it. 

He feels eyes on him as he pulls out of his driveway. He takes a quick moment before putting the car back in drive to check his phone again and see if maybe he's gotten a text from Tim in the ten seconds that passed since he checked last. 

He's probably being ridiculous. It's a long drive from here to Rosswood; Brian doesn't have time to let himself linger any longer. 

Alex is waiting, and Tim is fine, and he'll be waiting too. All Brian has to do is get there in one piece and once they're both in front of him, maybe then his brain will back off and let him breathe clean again. 

It's all going to be okay. 

* * *

He knows that his eyes are open, but he can't tell if he's actually awake. 

His eyes are open but he can't make them focus on anything. He's distantly aware of the fact that there is blood pouring out of his mouth, from his nose, from the back of his head. He doesn't know what happened. 

He doesn't know what happened. He'd lost Alex, he remembers. He'd found Tim, he remembers. But he can't put the pieces together. Something smashed through the delicate glass of his thoughts and tore everything apart and he can't find the way things fit together anymore. 

He can't move, not really. His body moves, a few shudders and twitches, but the meat of his limbs feels too far away for him to get an actual grip on. All he can do is stare up at the ceiling, and try to breathe through the wet rattle in his lungs, and wonder why this all feels so damn _familiar_. 

Alex is above him, peering uncertainly down into Brian's open eyes. Brian can't figure out if he knows how long he's been there. He looks at Brian, and Brian can't tell what the expression on his face means, but Brian knows that _he_ is relieved. 

Alex isn't lost. He's not hurt, or arrested, or worse. Brian can't figure out the controls of his body in order to tell Alex this, that he's glad to see him, that he's happy he's okay. 

From a million miles away, it seems like, Brian feels when Alex hooks his wrists under Brian's arms to drag him through the dirt and debris. It would probably be uncomfortable if Brian was settled into his own body well enough to feel it, but it's probably fine. Alex is okay, and he's smart, and he can get them both out of here and figure out what the problem is and how to fix Brian once they're both somewhere less scary together. 

But Alex _doesn't_ get Brian out. He doesn't take him very far at all, just out of the room and out into the hallway and then he's _leaving_ and Brian doesn't understand. 

Terror finds its way through the dense fog in his head, winding around his thoughts and lungs and limbs in pathetically thin tendrils. Brian can't figure his own body out, but he manages something. A weak turn of his head to try and follow Alex as he walks out of Brian's line of sight, a soft noise of pain and confusion and fear working its way out of the gory mess of Brian's throat. He doesn't understand. 

Alex freezes, legs stuttering uncertainly in their stride just as he stoops over to pick something up, and Brian thinks he hears a noise like maybe Alex is crying, but he isn't sure. 

He's not sure, because _that thing_ is back, looming over Brian's too-heavy body and staring down at him with its face that doesn't hold any eyes, and even through the despairing thought of 'not now', Brian gets the distinct sense that it is _pleased_. Satisfied. Contented with how things have played out. 

And Brian understands all at once that Alex is leaving him here on purpose. That he brought him here on purpose and lost him here on purpose and is _leaving him here on purpose_ , giving him to it, and the fear cloying Brian's chest evaporates all at once under the all-encompassing _rage_ that swells at the realization. 

Brian wasn't going crazy, he never had been. There had been something there all along, and Alex had _known_ , and instead of asking for help, instead of offering it, he had just decided to leave Brian behind, alone and defenseless. 

Brian is gone before he gets a chance to do anything about it (he's not sure what he would have been able to do anyway, not like this, but it never gives him a chance to try), but he knows one thing for sure, even as the pain rises up to throttle him unconscious. 

He is _not_ going to forget what happened here. 

(And he sure as _hell_ is not going to forgive it.)

**Author's Note:**

> *thinks about how alex and brian were dealing with the same problems simultaneously but took two completely different paths to dealing with it, both of them the same in how they never asked anyone else for help*
> 
> *loses my mind*
> 
> come swing by [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com) for the recent relentless barrage of marble hornets content if anyone else is still hanging around this fandom


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